Chapter 4: Si vic pacem - 5 Audentes fortuna iuvat
by Darkpenn
Summary: Trusting that fortune favours the bold, Wick enters the sanctuary of the High Table.


**John Wick, Chapter 4: ****_Si vic pacem_**

Author's Note: This is the fourth part of a new story collection by Darkpenn. It follows part 4, _Facio ut facias_. The collection begins soon after the end of the movie _John Wick, Chapter 3: Parabellum_.

**5\. Audentes fortuna iuvat**

1

Wick looked at himself in the mirror. The cosmetics artist had done a good job: his face and hands were evenly covered in dark make-up.

"You know, in America you can get into serious trouble doing this," he said.

"You might look a little bit black but you sound one hundred and ten per cent white," said Cassian. "So say as little as possible."

Wick opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it. He nodded.

"The High Table has hired dozens of people," put in Akoni. "So you should be able to join them without too much problem. Funny, it is the High Table's desire for more protection that allows their enemy to enter the fortress."

"Ironic," said Wick.

"That is not a word black people use," said Cassian.

"You do not look African," said Akoni.

"If anyone asks, tell them you come from Putney," Cassian suggested.

"Got it," said Wick.

"We don't say that either," said Cassian.

2

Not long after, Wick was sitting in one of the buses being used to take forty hired guns to St Blaine Castle. Ironically – that word again – they had each been given a photograph: it was of him, bearded and with long hair. Kill on sight, said the organizer. There will be a substantial bonus for the one who does it.

They passed through the main gate of the castle and stopped in the courtyard. The organizer said he would take them to the main hall for briefing and allocation of assignments.

Wick had memorised the layout of the castle from the blueprints. As the group moved through the halls he lagged behind. They passed a series of checkpoints and security doors, and patrols of men with automatic weapons and body armour – the professional soldiers of the High Table.

He slipped into the room with the priest's hole. He went to the wall –

A voice said: "You shouldn't be here."

He turned. It was one of the patrols. They had their guns pointed at him.

"Need a piss," he grunted.

One of the soldiers pointed. "Back that way, follow the signs," he said.

Wick nodded and started in the direction the soldier had indicated.

"Fucking amateurs," muttered one of the soldiers as they left the room.

He went back in, and began to search for the catch. He ran his hand along the lintel. Nothing.

He heard heavy footsteps. The patrol was coming back, and he knew he would not be able to fool them again.

He felt his way along the lintel again. Yes, there was … something. Not much more than a small indentation.

The footsteps were closer. Seconds away, no more.

He pressed it. A narrow doorway swung open. He went in and pulled the door closed. It made a _click_.

"What was that?" said one of the soldiers.

"What was what?" said the other.

"I heard a noise."

"Probably a rat. Old places like this always have rats."

"Huh. Yeah, probably."

Wick heard the footsteps go on their way.

He let himself exhale. The tiny chamber – it could not be called a room, there was hardly enough space to stand upright – was totally dark, and smelled as if several things had died and rotted in it. He took out his phone and checked the time. Twenty-six hours to wait. That should be when Akoni made his presentation to the full High Table, although Akoni had emphasised that the time was not certain. The Table called when the Table called.

"A castle full of heavy-gear soldiers guarding the most powerful criminal organization in the world, and I have a pistol," he muttered to himself. "How hard can it be?"

For a long moment he thought of Helen.

He pulled a cloth from his pocket and began to remove the blackface make-up. If he was going to go out, he was going to go out as himself.

3

Elizabeth and Trixie were again sharing a threadbare meal.

"I can understand why they want to kill you," said Elizabeth. "You well and truly screwed up, after all. But I don't see what they have against me. I did a favour for them, telling them about Wick. I was invited."

Trixie shrugged. "You saw the High Table running scared," she said. "They can't let you go and have you tell that story. There's a myth to maintain. But they might not kill you."

"Really?"

"No, a pretty girl like you might be sold to one of the brothel corporations. Slavery, in other words. The sort of thing that make a single-shot execution seem like the preferred option."

Elizabeth stared at her plate. "Oh," she said.

"Tell me something," said Trixie. "You know the woman who runs New York Administration? OC, I think she is known as. Is she, you know, seeing anyone?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I … I wouldn't know," she said. "But everyone at Administration is not allowed to have any social contacts. It's a rule."

Trixie gave a snort. "Rule shmule," she said. "That's just another way the High Table keeps people in line. If trust and honor was as important as they say it is they wouldn't have to resort to threats."

Elizabeth considered. "Maybe," she said. "Hey, does this mean you are thinking about us getting through this? Are you going to tell me that you've been in worse positions than this?"

"Uh, no, this is about the worst I've even been in. But we are not dead yet. And maybe we have help on the way."

"Help? Who?"

Trixie smiled. "Mister Wick, of course. Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"

Elizabeth thought about it. "When he starts to move, things happen fast," she said.

"Then we should be prepared. Despite our very limited resources."

Elizabeth nodded. "One thing," she said. "OC said that she wondered what you would look like naked."

"Well," said Trixie. "How about that."

END (to be continued)


End file.
